


Life Is Practicalities

by auddity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Sterek if you squint, post 3x23, pre-Sterek - Freeform, season 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auddity/pseuds/auddity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hot tears streamed down his face, but he shivered with the cold that he just couldn’t shake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was trying to keep anyone else from dying. Instead he’d gotten one of his friends killed. He knew he was panicking, but he welcomed it. He let the darkness erase the cold sinking into his limbs, the dull ache in his chest, the weight of the guilt that pressed heavily down on him. </p><p>Stiles deals with the guilt he feels over Allison's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Is Practicalities

**Author's Note:**

> This is an aborted fic that I wrote way back in Season 3B and I just rediscovered on my computer. I wanted to explore Stiles's feelings of guilt over Allison's death and all the stuff that went down with the Nogitsune, which I feel like the series just skated over. I would be willing to revisit it if anyone showed interest, so if you like it, comment on how you'd like to see it develop!

He woke to the feeling of Lydia’s body slumped against his. Her frame shook with silent sobs. His hands trembled as he grasped clumsily at her shoulders, pulling her into him. “Who is it?” Stiles rasped. “Who died?”

She cried into his shoulder, unable to speak, and he just stroked her hair and let her. Stiles leaned his head against the cold brick behind him. This was on him. He thought of who’d been out in the courtyard. Isaac, Allison, Kira, her mother. It was one of them, he thought, if not all. Not Scott though, he’d been in the tunnel with them. It couldn’t have been Scott. He pictured each of them dead on the cold hard pavement, eyes staring blankly at the sky. Whoever it was, their blood was on his hands. 

“Stiles,” Lydia whispered once her tears had slowed, “I have to go see her.” And he knew, the raw agony in her voice told him. Allison was dead. 

He nodded and she picked herself up from the ground. Stiles attempted to follow her, but found he was too weak. “Go,” he urged softly. She shook her head and tried to pull him up, but she couldn’t take his weight. “Lydia, go, I’ll be fine here until you can get help.”

“No,” she whimpered, “No, I’m not leaving you, not like this.”

“I’ll be fine,” but the promise sounded empty even to him, so he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You need to be with her now.”

She nearly broke down again. “I’ll come back for you. I’ll call your dad, we’ll get help.”

He reached up and caught her hand, “Just go.”

She held his hand in hers for a minute before abruptly turning and fleeing down the corridor. 

Stiles took a deep breath; he waited until the clicking of her heels disappeared before he lost it completely. Hot tears streamed down his face, but he shivered with the cold that he just couldn’t shake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was trying to make things better, to make things right. He was trying to keep anyone else from dying. Instead he’d gotten one of his friends killed. Scott was going to be wrecked. Isaac had lost yet another person he cared about. And if Argent had been willing to kill him before, there was nothing stopping him now. Maybe Stiles should let him. His body wracked with aborted sobs. He knew he was panicking, but he welcomed it. He let the darkness erase the cold sinking into his limbs, the dull ache in his chest, the weight of the guilt that pressed heavily down on him. 

Warm hands shook him awake. “Stiles,” a voice called softly, “Stiles, wake up.”

For a moment all he registered was the warmth of those hands and the way the words soothed him. Then the icy tendrils of dread clutched at his heart. “Did I dream it?” he croaked. “Is she r-really…?”

Stiles opened his eyes and came face to face with Derek’s look of pity. He’d never seen Derek look so open before, so unabashedly sad. It would have been alarming if the whole situation weren’t already so fucked. 

Derek simply said “Come on Stiles, we have to go,” and pulled Stiles from the damp ground. 

“Where’s my dad?” Stiles asked, confused, “Is he okay?”

“He’s alright,” Derek said gruffly, “He just couldn’t come.” Then softer, “He had to deal with Allison.”

Stiles swallowed. Oh right, life goes on. And life is rules and paperwork and funeral preparations. Life is practicalities. He wondered if the courtyard would be clear yet. How long had he been sitting there? Derek supported him -- half carried him, really -- down the corridor out into the courtyard. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was empty. His dad had managed to keep this quiet, for now at least. Then he saw the still-drying puddle of blood and stopped in his tracks. The red-brown stain on the pavement made his stomach churn and he shoved Derek away just before he retched on the ground. There wasn’t much -- when was the last time he’d eaten?? -- but he thought absurdly that it was one more piece of evidence his dad would have to cover up.


End file.
